FM August - Summer
My parents were buried in the summer. It's strange how I never see the scene as anything other than standing there surrounded by people in coats while the icy wind cuts through us. In reality my Mother and Father were killed on July 1st in the height of summer and while I watched them being put in the ground it was near a hundred degrees.
The only cold that day was the cold inside of me. Cold that has never gone away from me since that time.
Every year when I put roses from the bushes that my mother planted and nurtured on their graves it never fails to surprise me that the bushes are blooming. I always imagine the roses dormant and shrouded in snow and every year I find them burst into riotous blooms instead.
The rest of the world goes on into summer while I keep it winter inside myself.
Maybe that's why eventually it's always just me and Alfred left. I won't let the others stay to thaw my soul.
The only cold that day was the cold inside of me. Cold that has never gone away from me since that time.
Every year when I put roses from the bushes that my mother planted and nurtured on their graves it never fails to surprise me that the bushes are blooming. I always imagine the roses dormant and shrouded in snow and every year I find them burst into riotous blooms instead.
The rest of the world goes on into summer while I keep it winter inside myself.
Maybe that's why eventually it's always just me and Alfred left. I won't let the others stay to thaw my soul.